English added by me :)

This is foul KDJKSFKKSMFJSKCKS

SCREAM.

reblog for noises

[ID. A video where a white guy plays guitar to his cat, who provides vocals. There is a microphone in shot. End ID.]

am i too late to share my favorites (part 1)

warning for loud noises

If a girl hits you with a beam you should always thank her no matter what kind of creature or critter it may turn you into

I never said it couldn't be

girl whose magic wand is a 2x4

Please stop spreading dangerous misinformation. When using a beam attack remember to use at least paired 2x8s, 2x4s simply can't handle most girls' loads.

i can handle a girls load if that helps

girl beam banned by OSHA wizard council shall deliberate

time smells bad.

what Synesthetic bullcrap is this now

Listen

I accidentally leave the milk out overnight.

Milk smells bad the next day.

Why does milk smell bad?

Time gets in it.

@ryanthecynic

Just realised this implies that a fridge cancels or slows time down

As a simple experiment I will put some plutonium in my refrigerator and see if it decays slower, brb

The results are in!

I have radiation poisoning!

this time it’s the opposite of Greek philosophy because you used the scientific method

Conclusion: the scientific method gives people radiation poisoning

my gender identity ranks higher than urs on the activision blizzard diversity chart. btw

fucking hate it when the stuff everybody says "actually works" does actually work.

hate exercising and realizing i've let go of a lot of anxiety and anger because i've overturned my fight-or-flight response.

hate eating right and eating enough and eating 3 times a day and realizing i'm less anxious and i have more energy

hate journaling in my stupid notebook with my stupid bic ballpoint and realizing that i've actually started healing about something once i'm able to externalize it

hate forgiving myself hate complimenting myself more often hate treating myself with kindness hate taking a gratitude inventory hate having patience hate talking to myself gently

hate turning my little face up to the sun and taking deep breaths and looking at nature and grounding myself and realizing that i feel less burdened and more hopeful, more actually-here, that i am able to see the good sides of myself more clearly, that i am able to see not only how far i have to grow - but also how much growth i have already done & how much of my life i truly fill with light and laughter and love

horrible horrible horrible. hate it but i'm gonna do it tho

I have been thinking of the ways we tell people things. My father's hands shake, but he holds the phone up so I can watch the video from six feet away. My mother emails me the recipe of her beef stroganoff at 6 in the morning with the comment - woke up and didn't want to forget to do this! On the highway, we sing so loudly my voice grows hoarse; on the beach I sneak nice rocks into people's hands so they have something to hold, on the floor we all sit quietly in the same agreeable silence. We are all saying the same thing.

My friends say "Oh you know, keeping busy." This means they are having a hard time but making themselves survive it. I ask them to help me walk me dog; this is me telling them it's okay sometimes to just be present and talk about young adult fiction. When I cancel again because I can't get out of bed, she tells me she's on her way with cookies.

I point out the sunset. She shares her fork before I ask for it. He calls me at 1 AM just because I'm on the road alone, we talk about stupid shit. She waits for me to get indoors safely before driving away. He says - nah, forget it, I'm happy to do it for free.

People are saying it, you know? They say it often and loudly. Sometimes, you know - you just have to be listening.

two things -

we say that cut to the quick. that means it hurt. that means it drew blood. that means too far.

we got that from dogs. from cutting the nails of our pets. how tender it becomes, this cliche. to mean. we have internalized this little pain. we have said to each other a tiny warning. we say - i am giving you my hand and my heart, and i am asking you not to bite too hard.

we say i'm used to it. that means: it still gives me pain, but i have learned how to survive it. that means - it cannot get to me, my skin has gotten too thick. that means - i have become immune to this.

we get this from a french term, but a german base. to acclimate. i have spent many days thinking this is maybe the saddest term in the whole english language. it's rare we use it out of a place of joy. it's rare it comes on the heels of good news. it is more often a quiet confession.

but i have also learned - there are things that still cut me to the quick. there are things i am surprised about hurting. which is a good thing, isn't it? that i am never used to spring. i am always surprised by it. i am always mourning the crocuses passing.

my dog gives me his paw. he is used to me gently filing each nail back to where it belongs. this is not without trying. he is a rescue from the racetrack. for months, getting him to sit for his nails to be trimmed was an entire expedition. now he half-sleeps through it.

i think - how he has healed is how i am going to try harder to be healing. he was used to violence and now is used to being treated gently. and something in that. something about that. makes being used to something ... very lovely.

it is almost summer, somehow. i disintegrated in march and slept through april. i miss plums. i miss coming home. i miss my family. i miss fruit stands by the side of the road.

a lot is better now, just-personally. i can buy my own plums. i am surrounded by people who actually say sorry. i am in love. i am in therapy.

my friends and i lie in the grass and watch the crows overhead. i am 27 and learning how to longboard, even though it makes me kind of afraid to lose my teeth. i am confused by certain video game mechanics, which i used to pick up so easily.

it is okay, to miss a thing. i eat a grape (small plum, maybe?) and think about - the world is so easy to feel empty in, or too-full, or swirling. the days seem to exist in extremity - either where did the time go or why is this happening so slowly.

plums come back into season. i have been singing in the shower again. i often feel this strange edge in my thoughts; where the good-nature of my recovery comes slinking back in. like remembering how to hold without clutching.

i put one hand on the walls of my heart and i keep walking.

it is a brave, and wounded place - loving in despite of your trauma. it always gets painted as one loop upwards: we go to therapy, we get better.

you will love deeper, you will love kinder, you will love more (in spades, in large swatches of caution tape, free and unbidden; the numb finally slushing away)

but you will still sit on the floor of your apartment and feel heinous little snatches of your mental illness. you will unwind over small things. you will desperately want some-kind-of-validation, but know there's actually-something-else-here, a thirst unable to be slaked, a hunger that causes you to rip open the world so it understands your pain. you'll think about how you want to leave before you get left, how the hurt will be so manageable if you just steal out the back door and run with your bare feet. you will call it a controlled detonation, your tongue dry while you plan relocating to the city.

but you will exit the car fire of your childhood and you will hold the child you didn't get to be and you'll say: shush now. we won't run, we know how to make our home.

and the child will say: it's all sand. there's no foundation. the world isn't safe to build upon.

and we will stretch our hands and our old back and the hips that keep clicking. and we will say: from sand we made glass. and what else is there to say after that? the world isn't safe. the world isn't always kind.

but you have survived it, and it makes it just a little easier, each time, to spread yourself over the water and feel like you are swimming.

This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen

This is a very powerful combined energy.

i get a strike at the bowling alley and the screen shows the exact time and place that i die

the gays will get it

original source: chebbyart on twitter

totally correct me2 shepard 

Ah, it’s too late to post this on Halloween.  But here is a little story about ghosts, and roommates, and roommates who are ghosts.